Zombies For Breakfast Part One

 

That heavenly smell of bacon; such a gift.  Always an obedient young man, Oliver allowed the aroma to draw him down the hall along to the breakfast table.  “How odd,” he pondered.  “Why are they here?”  

While bacon had great power, its spell broke in lieu of the three dead people seated at the table.  While it had been quite a few years ago, Oliver noted that Grandmother sat in her traditional spot.  Uncle Knud and Aunt Maren rooted themselves in the two guest chairs at the end of the table.  Each of them gazed forward with milky-blue eyes, then turned in his direction.  There was no emotion, not even with the prospect of bacon at hand. Yes, a very strange morning.

            Ma seemed uncertain just what a proper hostess should do with such unexpected guests.  She nodded towards one of the chairs on the opposite side for Oliver to take.  Reuben sprinted in from the back porch, skidded across the linoleum floor, ready to make one of his typical comic quips: “A Rabbi walks into a bar and says . . .”  He stared for only a moment then planted himself in the chair next to Grandmother.  “I’m famished.  What we got this morning?  Oh Ma, I just love those kinds of muffins.  Pass them down!”

            Grandmother raised her hands to take the plate of hot muffins and passed it on to Reuben.  “Thanks,” he said.  “You don’t want any?  How about you kids,” he said, offering the plate to Aunt Maren.  

            When they arrived, Morgan, Eva and Alice did their best to be polite as they took their seats.  “Such a nice spring day,” remarked Eva pleasantly.  

Always the bold one, Alice fairly trembled with excitement.  “Just wait ‘til the other girls hear about this!  My friend Joanie thought it was a big deal to have a mother skunk and four babies march through their parlor into her grandpa’s bedroom.  Apparently to nest.  On the whole, nothing all that remarkably considering the smell of that old man.  But this,” she pointed at the guests, “this tops Joanie’s story by far.”

“Now you apologize to your grandmother!” said Ma.  “These fine people do not smell in the least!”

“That’s not what I meant,” protested Alice.

“Funny that,” remarked Reuben.  “You’d think that they would smell.”  Ma silenced him with one of her deadly looks.

The three guests remained unmoving, unbreathing, while the family fabricated pleasant chit chat, all except Reuben.  Every time he began to open his mouth to initiate conversation,  Ma’s finger of condemnation pointed in his direction with great effect. Her finger had the power to work independent of the rest of her hand, no mater what other task it might be doing.  Though Reuben  remained silent, his eyes danced with mischief.

When it was time to clean up, Aunt Maren pitched in; then Grandma joined in to after she had retrieved her cane, which had remained in the corner for the last seven years.  Uncle Knud stood idle, with a hint of unhappiness in vacant face.

“Boys,” called Ma to the Oliver, Morgan, and Reuben as they prepared to start a day’s work in the field.  “Can you find something to keep your uncle busy?”

“Absolutely,” remarked Morgan.  “I am always happy to share my work with someone else.”  Knud trudged behind them as they walked out the back door.

Oliver stopped abruptly. “I’ve got a hunch,” he said after pausing in thought.  “I’m going to get out the Model T.  I’ll be back as soon as I can.”  Reuben and Morgan protested that they would end up doing all the work.  Oliver offered his shovel to Uncle Knud, who  rasped this familiar tool, giving it a loving caress.  The work day had begun.

Reuben and Morgan had to stop and marvel at the skill that Uncle Knud still had. He went right to work setting the dam in the irrigation ditch and easily opened the slots in the ditch bank to send water down between the rows of potatoes.  Apparently death wasn’t as much of a limitation as one might think.

“How very handy,” commented Morgan. “If this keeps up, we may not need to hire any extra hands for the harvest this fall.” With George and Ancel tending the family cattle up in the mountains all summer, this had always been a expensive necessity, but maybe not this year. Reuben pitched in to help his dead uncle, but Morgan basked in thoughts of financial opportunity.

Reuben looked up in alarm as he could hear the lopping splash of the neighbor’s approaching dog. “Rufus, you keep your distance.” The neighbors had bought this mongrel earlier in the year to serve as a watch dog. Unfortunately, the only terror that it could extend to any would-be trespasser was the imminent possibility of being doused in canine drool from face to foot.

Morgan tried to keep the dog back at shovel’s length, but it dodged passed him and took off after Uncle Knud. “No, you wretched thing,” screamed Morgan. “You’ll ruin his usefulness.” Sure enough, the dog bit into Knud’s leg and tried to thrash its head from side to side.

Uncle Knud seemed startled at first, then noticing the dog for the first time he reached down and gave it a pat on the head. The dog begin to wag its tail, but did not release its hold on the leg. It was almost nauseating how Uncle Knud removed his leg, wrenching it out of the dog’s teeth. Then with perfect balance on the remaining limb, the dead man teased the dog, holding the detached leg just out of reach of the dog’s snapping jaws as the excited animal leaped up and down.

The two Haroldsen boys watched in delight as Knud gave what might have approached a true smile and threw his own leg out into the field. The dog bolted out in excitement, splashing through the shallow irrigation water. Rufus proudly returned the leg to its owner, anticipating a replay of a most excellent game. Knud hesitated for a moment, then snapped his leg back into place. The dog frisked about for a moment, but then judged rightfully that it was over. It yowled in disappointment then retreated away with its tail down. Apparently it requires working lungs to laugh, but Knud made a good effort of it.